Cabo San Danger Zone
by Rowemantic
Summary: Rated M for future chapters. Lana and Archer are out on a mission to take down a major player in Mexico's drug ring. The two battle enemies on all fronts including mafia goons, cartel leaders, psychotic cyborg hookers, regular hookers, amnesia, and more dangerous yet: themselves. Set prior to S5.
1. Trans-species Affections

"Malory!" Winded from having run around the entire office, Lana Kane propped herself against the head of ISIS's doorframe. She was a stunningly beautiful - behemoth of a - woman, whose sweater dresses clung to her shapely physique in all the right places, which for her were all of the places in general. Today, her look was disheveled chic cluster fuck; as Ray and Pam both said when she ran past them, knocking ISIS's comptroller and her ex-boyfriend Cyril over on "accident." Her hair was out of place, her perpetually pristine leather knee high boots scuffed, breathing erratic, she just barely managed to wheeze out, "Have you seen Archer?"

Lifting her cold eyes from the fifth drink she was pouring herself this morning (it was 10am and she was pacing herself for an important meeting later in the day), Malory Archer visually acquiesced the giant visage of her best (though she would be loathe to outright admit that) field operative.

"Sterling?" she asked, nonplussed by the big breasted she-hulk invading her office and heaving in lung fulls of her air. "No, I haven't seen him this morning. Why? Oh, what has he gotten into now?"

"Have you called him?" She was frantic and concerned, and hating the fact that she was.

He always pulled stunts like this, if ever there were a true life allegory to the boy who cried wolf, Sterling Archer would be it. He liked to emotionally rile any and everyone he could get to, even going so far as to spend hours chanting then screaming their name to get a reaction out of them. He was a selfish, horrible man who took life as one big joke and everyone else was just collateral damage for his amusement.

Deep down, Lana knew it came from his entire life's worth of insecurities and maternal neglect from the woman before her but she did not have time to dwell on the irreparable damage caused in the past, but instead on the possibly current damage done or being done to him.

Lana, brought out of her thoughts, heard Malory suck at her rum-soaked teeth in annoyance. "You know how much I hate calling him." She was reminded of the numerous false voice mail messages and air horns that constantly threatened to rupture her ear drum. Not to mention the rage-inducing, phone-crushing humility that came from always speaking to his tricky voicemail before catching on. "Oh, but Lana."

She stopped mid-bolt, turning on her heel to face her boss.

"Since you're here, we may as well discuss your status on mission acceptance?"

"Nyope," Lana decisively attempted to end the conversation before it continued as realization hit. She could not believe that she could not believe she was having this discussion while Archer could be hurt or wounded. All his text said was, "Lana emergency can't breathe need" with no other messages. Maybe he needed mouth-to-mouth or CPR, his body's lack of oxygen turning him as blue in the face as his piercing eyes; or maybe he was trapped and needed an evac chopper on a mission or fatal accident; or more likely he was being an ass but Lana's stricken mind barely had time to process that more evident explanation.

"Lana —"

"I would rather quit than take that mission. I would rather Pam sit on my face, spread her cheeks reeeeeal wide while Cheryl —"

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic," Malory Archer, head of ISIS, rolled her hand and heard the soft clink of ice in her nearly empty tumbler. "We all know you will never leave ISIS. Besides, where could you go?"

"I've had offers!" she indignantly chimed. "Loads!"

Malory narrowed her eyes, her crows feet like talons waiting to lash out at her best agent. "Hmmm."

"Whu, I have!"

The older woman sniffed at what she believed to be a bold faced lie.

"Ok, and you know what, I think it's pretty offensive that you thought I was the best suited for this operation."

"Well, you would be!"

Lana scoffed. "Oh, really?" She pulled out one of the few dossier files she was given. "A perfect fit to play the role of the beefy, transvestite wife of an ambassador - who was to be played by _Ray_?"

Lana groaned at Malory's prolonged and affirming silence. "If you need me," she said. "I will be out looking for your —"

"Mother," Sterling Archer walked in, unscathed and jovially wiping a tear from his eye. "You have got to see this!"

"Son!" Lana finished then screeched his name, grabbing the collar of his gray suit roughly. There was a fury, a fire burning behind her emerald eyes stoked on by Archer's nonchalance and ok-edness.

The man blanched and tried to swat her large hands away from his expensive suit. "Geez, Lana, ease up would you? If I wanted someone to manhandle this suit I would have told Woodhouse to take it to the cleaners where it would inevitably be lost in some crack den which I would then be forced to feed him as many spiderwebs as this suit cost."

He lost himself for a moment and Lana took the opportunity to assault him with her hands, smacking and whacking at his arms and face. His chuckling turned to sounds of pain, grimacing from her heavy-handed attacks.

"All jokes aside, Lana, please do ease up. It feels like I'm being beaten to death by two snow plows," He fixed his steely gaze on the woman standing behind her, casually downing the remaining contents of her Glengoole Blue supply. "And you, Mother, aren't you going to do anything to stop this!"

Lana screamed and hit him with one last resounding whack and asked, "What was the emergency that was so important it had me running all over the place to find you, Archer?"

He straightened his posture and righted his suit, eyes lighting up his hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. Tapping a few key points on the touch screen, he clicked a link which opened up to a video. It was a poor quality video of a jungle cat nursing what looked to be a newborn fawn.

"Why…" Lana sighed. "Why are we watching this?"

"Lana, do you not see the importance of this? Trans-species affection and upbringing is a feat and miracle of nature."

Thunderous steps boomed down the hall. Suddenly, Dr. Krieger from the basement level laboratory's face appeared in the empty doorway. His face was gaunt and his panicked eyes scanning the room quickly.

"I heard trans-species something or other," he peered around the room cautiously, then his back bolted upright and he stared at each member in the room, his body more jittery than usual. "Uh, completely unrelated, have any of you seen a glowing chimpanzaroo?"

There was a screeching heard some distance away, Krieger's face turned directly towards the noise that was either what he was searching for or Cheryl finding Fisto Roboto again. And he hid it so well this time. He raced toward the noise, producing his stun gun from his inside coat pocket, whatever he found was going down whether they liked it or not.

Lana rubbed at her temples as Archer softly cooed at his screen unperturbed, wiggling his finger as if he were petting the chin of the actual jaguar. "So why couldn't you breathe?"

"Because of how god damn cute this is!"

"If you both are finished," Malory interrupted, noticing the shaking of Lana's hands as they dangerously approached her son's neck. "There is still the matter we were discussing, Lana."

"Not doin' it!"

"What?" he interjected. "That mission where Ray - hah! - is Lana's husband and Lana is supposed to play that tranny wife because of that dictator's fetish? Come on. Ray would not be passable. I mean Lana, eh, maybe; but not Ray."

"Hey!" Lana cried out.

"Hey, too!" an effeminate voice objected, crisp shoes clicking their way into the office. Ray glared at Archer as he laid his dossier down on his boss's desk. "I could pass."

Archer scoffed, fixing himself a drink and taking a large swig. "Yeah, ok, Ray. Hey, I hear the diner's open and I know you're so partial to Greek. Maybe you should catch the lunch rush before it's over."

Ray clicked his tongue, muttered, "Ass," then left the room.

"We know, Ray, _God," _Archer called out to him. Lana smacked him on the arm again for good measure.

"Well, the only other available mission is one with Sterling so if you would rather that to the one with Ray…" Malory trailed off, knowing and loving that she had pushed Lana into a corner.

Said woman sighed and asked, "How about any missions on my own? As a more than capable field agent —"

Archer laughed heartily, Lana's eyes narrowed but noticed he was still staring at his phone. His head popped up and corrected her assumption, "Oh…I'm actually laughing at you. Capable field agent, pfft," then went back to his screen.

Malory interjected before Lana could murder her murder-deserving son. "_Unfortunately_ there are none, at least none that I feel the need to send you on. So, missy, it's either you play your role as Ray's husband-wife or you and Sterling go to Cabo to dispatch a major player in the drug trade, Alejandro Vorhees. Your choice."

"I," she abruptly paused. "Did you say, Cabo?"

Malory's sly smile was obscured by the brim of her glass, sipping her drink delicately the gears turned in her mind as she continued to scheme away. "I'll assume you'll be packed within the hour?"

But Lana was already out the door. There was a pause, a fuzzy radio silence coming from Archer's phone. He briefly glanced up at his mother and questioned, "Wait…did you say I had a mission?"


	2. A Tale of Two Archers

Archer and Lana got to their hotel suite and checked in around 8pm. They would have been there by 6, the time they were supposed to be, if it hadn't been for her "commanding" agent's shenanigans. He thought every local man and woman was a servant there to take his luggage and be there at his beck and call. They got into a very hairy situation when he threw one of the bags, Lana's to her chagrin and bottle-throwing anger, at the head of a burly biker. They were chased all the way to the hotel until they lost the man through a series of tangling alleyways.

"Well excuse _me_, Lana, I didn't invent the menial labor force or make it consist mainly of the people found here!" he dropped his suitcases heavily, watching a hotel bellhop pass by. Archer nodded to him with a chuckle. "See, this guy, he knows what I'm talkin' about."

It was too late for any real work to be done by the time they got to their unfortunately single room, Archer suggested the two relax and unwind before entering into any surveillance. When Lana confirmed the need to rest before undergoing recon, Archer whooped his stupid and catching, "Woo!" then ran out the door faster than Lana could blink or object. Distantly, she also heard a "Danger zooooone!" descending the stairs. Sighing, she dialed into ISIS's main line, confirmed their location to Cheryl and had her relay the information to Malory who was away at the moment. Ending the call, she sighed and began unpacking her things.

Even if Archer wasn't down for surveillance, she was up for a little toggling of the ole night vision goggles and scope. Additionally, it gave her an excuse to slip into her form-fitting catsuit which hugged her curves nicely and made her feel great. Shame Sterling wasn't around to see it; for him, anyway. Although, truth be told she did like the attention. That was why for many missions, her clothes somehow always mysteriously got torn or disappeared. It wasn't her fault she had a rockin' bod she liked to exhibit. Catsuit on, equipment secured, weapons holstered, she made her way to the roof for optimal visual assessments. But not before assessing herself visually in the vertical mirror.

"Yuuuup," she said, smacking a hand to her hip. "Still got it."

It was a beautiful evening. The cool night air wafted scents of the seared chicken and delicious breads that were being served to the hotel's patrons. She inhaled the smells gratefully and felt her stomach rumble. She decided to pack it in for the night after a few minutes, already calculating prime spots to blend into the environment while still being able to view their target whenever he arrived.

There was her location now, but if they went with sniping this was the most obvious choice and they would surely be found immediately. If their plan was a quick kill and getaway, this would not be the best spot but it was still one to consider and bring up with Archer the next day. There was thick foliage on the path down to the gorgeous sandy beach that looked a great spot to hide if they used hand to hand or dartblowers. That, however, would only work well late at night and if the target decided to go for a swim alone. From what the intel said in the dossier, he liked to travel with three to five guards at a time. There was the open kitchen which would be easy to slip in and out of to poison his food, but that would lend the risk of contaminating the other guests. It was messy and tricky, but it could be done as a last resort.

The last spot she noted was the outdoor servants' corridors that were behind the hotel buildings, illuminated by only a few dim lamp posts it was dark and secluded enough that they could make the kill and be on their way to checkout by 11 the next day. Lana roved her binoculars over to that spot and noticed a large shadow standing there. From this far away and with how perfectly dark the area was it was hard to tell what that silhouette was of. She honed in on the spot to make sure it wasn't a guard posted there, which would ruin her night and plan. Instead, what she saw ruined her night even more than a guard.

It was not just a single large shadow, but two slender shadows so close together they formed one. Archer had one palm flat against the traditional adobe tiles of the building, the other hand faceted securely along the voluptuous hips of a young serving girl. His mouth was at her ear, either nibbling at the tender flesh of her lobe or whispering naughty nothings. Archer's rough hands worked their way across the taut skin of the girl's flat stomach, snaking lower until she giggled and knocked it away. He mischievously pressed into her and she laughed harder. Lana could almost audibly hear that bell-like chime of laughter from her position.

The girl's skin was a gorgeous tan from working on the beach resort, her long hair traveled in waves down her back with a faux Hawaiian flower tucked behind her ear. Both her arms were wrapped around Archer's neck and draped across his broad shoulders, she pulled him in tighter, every line molding together until it was hard to make out where his light brown polo shirt ended and her bare midriff began. He pulled back long enough to produce a small towel she most likely kept for her duties. Twisting it in his hands, he made gentle whacking motions towards her bottom and the two playfully teased and chased each other past her line of sight and into the shadows.

Lana felt the familiar and entirely unwanted pang of jealousy in her heart. It had been a very long time since she had felt this way, or at least this strongly. She swallowed thickly, shook her head out, but the image of Archer's broad grin as he escorted the girl to presumably their shared quarters would not leave her head.

"Asshole," she muttered, packing away her things carefully.

She had been with him for a very long time and it had been longer since that she had not been with him. Still, the feelings subsided, but they never went away. Truthfully, they typically got stronger when the two worked together on missions. Even remembering all the times he cheated on her didn't make them leave; they helped her hate him, but then those feelings travelled that thin line back to the dangerous area she barb-wired off long ago when he acted like his charming self.

But Lana Kane was a big girl who could keep her libido in check. Or in the least, find more suitable mates, even if it was just for a night to hinder those feelings. It wasn't like she was some lovesick school girl who could think of only Archer's handsome, noble features. Sure, they got in the way sometimes and made her wistful. But she could also kick back with a cold one and hit him where it hurt; his awful, awful personality flaws. Though…she had to admit, he did have some redeeming qualities. Usually blotched out by his abhorrent behavior. With those negative traits in mind, Lana found it easier to cope with his jet-setting bachelor-tude and made it to their suite, hoping to God she didn't have to put a round in some grabby bar wench so she could sleep in peace.

When she got to the room, she noticed a sock lazily thrown over the knob. Anger reigned her features and turned them nasty, but then she had a brilliant idea. Throwing her shoulder into the door a few times, she burst through the open door where a different kind of O-face graced the features of the surprised girl riding her partner like he was an Arabian horse on the beach and she was some fat, American tourist trying to "broaden their horizon." Lana put her hand to her mouth and produced fake tears, her body wracked with sobs coming from nowhere.

"Chet," she choked out between sobs. "I…I can't believe you're doing this to me… to us!" She clutched her stomach and cried harder.

Archer balked, head spinning from shooting glances at the current lover on top of him and his ex. He had no idea what was going on, but felt the abrupt absence of warmth around his cock as the serving girl jumped up, grabbing one of the sheets to cover herself.

"Joo told me jour name was Randy," she accused, her accent more pronounced while she was upset.

"I am Randy! I don't even know this woman!" he tried to redeem himself while covering his crotch with the other thin blanket. "She's probably just some crazy cyborg hooker. Hah, you don't know how often I've run into that problem."

Lana theatrically wailed louder at the comment. "You don't remember our night of passion!" she cried out. "You don't remember when you told me, 'No, baby, we don't need that, we're gonna be a happy family' well look at us now, Chet! I bet he said the same to you, didn't he?"

"Not about the family, I mean, who the hell would want that? Shit," Archer said, blowing a raspberry and shaking his head incredulously.

The serving girl gasped, slapped Archer in the face so hard her hand left a bright red imprint beside the few lipstick marks there. "You owe me 300 pesos!" she barked, then ran out crying.

Once the girl was gone, Lana straightened, wiped under her eyes from where some real tears escaped from how hard she was acting. "I thought she was a serving girl from the hotel, but a call girl? Classy."

Archer, stunned and aghast, quickly turned to anger.

"What the hell, Lana?" he shouted. "That was a real bitch move. I mean, I'm sure you're jealous seeing me with other women since you still can't seem to get over me. Seriously, Lana, Kenny Loggins is on the phone and wants to talk to you. But —"

"Oh no!" she objected, getting closer to the bed, her face menacing. "This isn't a jealousy thing, Archer, this is a we're on a mission, not vacation, so stop acting like it thing!"

He made an unattractive noise like a disgruntled donkey, produced a flask from under the pillow and took a large swig of the stinging alcoholic beverage, and said, "Lana, are you kidding? This mission is gonna be a breeze, of course this is a vacation. It's Mother's way of paying me back."

Lana arched a slender brow. "Paying you back for what?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, years of neglect and missed therapy sessions probably."

Lana laughed from deep in her gut. "Paging Dr. Freud, Dr. Sigmund Freud? You're needed in suite 103, please. Patient suffering from severe Oedipal complex drowns conflicting maternal emotions in booze and the philandering of other women, and occasional lady-boy!"

Archer's eyes narrowed and hers narrowed further, her hands at her hips. They engaged in the staring contest until he looked away, muttering, "Shut up, stupid," and took a gulp. The burn was as pleasantly numbing as always.

She sighed and contested, "Look, we may have a long day ahead tomorrow. I've scoped out a few spots we should check out and according to the file, Alejandro should be here within the next couple days, meaning as early as tomorrow and as late as Friday - if he shows up at all. So we should really rest up."

Archer swung his arm back and drained the remainder of his drink, belched then rolled on his side. It took some cajoling but Lana was able to push him off the bed and send him to the couch, after changing the sheets to new ones. She was not risking another crabs outbreak, nyoooop!

She slept peacefully knowing every rusty creak of the couch meant Archer was uncomfortable and annoyed. Her heart may have hurt earlier, but this made up for so much of that. She fell asleep with a light grin on her face to a chorus of pained grunts, unaware of what payback he had in store for her later.

* * *

Just outside the hotel, hiding in the darkness of an alley, two laser red eyes zoomed into the window to see the two ISIS agents arguing and the other girl run out. The eyes honed in on the girl, assessed her physical properties in his motherboard-like brain.

"She'll do nicely, wouldn't you say, Other Barry?" the former ODIN operative turned KGB head of operations (turned life partner of new KGB director) asked himself. Laughing, he confirmed to himself, "Yes, Barry, I think she will."

"Barry," the thick accent came across the crackling radio comm link.

"Yes, pumpkin pie?" Barry answered jovially, tracking the prostitute with his eyes through the walls. New Russian upgrades had their perks.

"Vhat have I told you about the two Barrys?" Katya spoke crisply on the other end. "And have you tracked down Sterling and Agent Kane, Darling?"

"Not to bring him up. And yes indeed-y I have found them and come up with a plan to properly dispatch them. Do we still have the connections to that underground scientist?"

"Da," she said. "Dr. Marco."

"Send me his info. Oh! Gotta go, sweet pea. Kiss, kiss!"

The girl from inside their hotel suite ran out into the street and past the alley. A hand shot out and grabbed her roughly by the upper arm. Her scream was cut short as another hand clapped itself over her thick, pink lips. She tried to get away, but the struggling caused the cyborg to strengthen his grip on her, the gears in his wrists and elbows creaked and he let out a little theatrical steam to frighten the girl.

"Oh, we don't think that's wise of you," he stated sinisterly, from his fingertip a gas was released that instantly knocked her out. He dragged her body deeper into the city, glancing back up at the suite window, now dark. "Soon, Sterling Archer, soon."

A/N: Light on the dialogue this chapter, will most likely be adding a lot more next chapter! Hope those reading are enjoying it so far! Let me know what you think in the comments below! :)


	3. Convitado

_Lana_.

The room to her hotel room was hot in the mid morning sun, her tan body bathed in its light. She was dressed in very short cotton shorts and a loosely revealing tank top. The woman stirred in her sleep. Her dreams that night had equally stirred her and she didn't want to leave them yet. Faintly, she could hear Archer's voice which did disturb her wonderful dream of his sudden muteness but decided to subconsciously integrate it into her new dream.

_Lana._

She smacked her full lips and yawned slightly, stretching her tall body against the cotton sheets. She remained stationed where she was, comfortably on the bed, not wanting this new dream to end; there were calloused and experienced hands roving nicely over her body, lips and the slight graze of teeth at her neck and jawline. She was reliving an old memory from a mission a few years back.

Tensions had been hot which made the situation the two agents found themselves in hotter; and made each other more dangerously appealing. After proclaimed affections, the two operatives threw caution to the wind and indulged in a brief tumble of passion before they faced a small, private army on their own. Lana moaned softly, her body unconsciously beginning to mimic the ministrations she felt on that sweltering desert day.

* * *

Archer had woken up that morning unrested with a severe hangover. He decided to right that wrong with more liquor. He filled a tumbler with scotch on the rocks and even the soft clink of frozen water in the glass hurt his head. When a knock sounded at the door for house keeping, he approached the maid to tell her off but decided to grab some intel while she was there. Slipping her a few pesos, he asked if any newcomers had arrived between last night and this morning. Getting his answer, he quickly swiped back the pesos from the waistband of her skirt and thanked her with a harsh slam of the door; which in the end harmed his already problematic hearing more.

The light of the sun was too much for his bloodshot eyes, so the skilled agent made his way to shut the curtains when he noticed his partner lying on the bed making soft noises. It was time he repaid her for shoving him onto the broken couch. Crouching down next to the double bed (plenty of room for the two of them, especially if she had slept on top of and/or below him) he began to softly call out her name.

"Lana," he said as she stirred. No response. He dialed up the volume. "Lana."

The only move she made was to yawn and stretch. He took the opportunity to ogle her lithe, muscular body. She was a tall drink of coffee, just as delicious and bitter, but in her sleep she lacked the frown lines and furrowed brow she typically reserved for him. She was beautiful in her sleepy bliss. Truth be told, even when she was glowering at him he thought she looked great, though he did prefer her smile. The way her thick, glossed lips parted to display an array of dazzling white teeth made his heart stop for a moment every time.

He never gave himself the proper kick in the pants reflection he needed to realize he had rarely ever made her smile in the time they were together. In the beginning of their relationship, it was great. The two jet-setters were made for each other, but then his philandering and cheating really put them in a rut and hid her smile behind gray clouds of stormy malcontent. He really didn't know why he did it. Sure, there was some great sex out there and while Lana was amazing in bed, she wasn't the best. But even if she was no Pele in bed where others could be (seriously, her name was an anagram for anal and yet, nothing!), she made him feel _different_ and he gave that up for nothing.

"What a waste…" he chided himself, shaking his head. He doubted he could ever get back what she gave him. So he sucked his woes through the straw of regret inserted into the glass of whatever alcohol was handy. _Handy_, he chuckled, _Phrasing, boom._

Soft moans snapped him out of his reverie. He pinpointed the noise coming from in front of him. Lana, still sound asleep, began to moan deep in her throat. Her ass wagged temptingly in front of him.

Without realizing, Archer saw his hand ghost over the lines and curves of her body. He immediately withdrew when he came to his senses, but the ache in his fingertips ran straight to the bone. He wanted to touch her so badly, but simultaneously did not want to end this show she was giving him.

As the ass he was, he allowed it to continue and see where it went to. To his surprise and happiness, he saw her hand ghost lower and lower down her abdomen, her lungs heaving at a faster pace. He felt his body involuntarily react, an almost painful surge of blood sent down to his responsive member.

Putting an end to this before he did something he would regret, he finished his payback. Sucking in a deep lungful of air, he bellowed, "LAAAAANAAAAAAA!"

The response he was met with took the air right out of him - literally. Without even opening her eyes, Lana's hand snaked out and grabbed around his throat. Her other hand wrangled his shoulder and threw Archer on the bed where she had been. Finally, eyes open she looked down at the oxygen-losing teammate she was straddled on top of.

"Archer?" she yelled.

"Hostile work environment," he wheezed.

Lana held onto her chokehold a little longer before releasing.

He gasped and sucked in as much air as he could to his deprived lungs. "What the shit, Lana!"

"What do you mean, 'What the shit, Lana?' What the hell were you doing?"

Archer scoffed, wincing as she scooted onto his still enlarged dick. The friction her shorts and body made against his pajama clad bottoms was aggravatingly pleasing and making it so much harder to concentrate. "Well, this backward ass country and stupid hotel room apparently don't see the point in having an alarm clock so…"

"So you decide to be the alarm clock I so desperately needed?" she deadpanned.

"Well, yeah, Lana. Super Troopers screenwriters called, they want their Snooze-berries back."

"Yeah, well, I did what you do to any good alarm clock," she smacked the flat of her palm against his the top of his head, his thick navy black hair cushioning most of the pain. "I smacked it off."

She glanced down between her legs where something hot and hard pressed into her inner thigh, similar to in her dream. She arched a brow, a sly and triumphant smile gracing her face. He had expected anger, not the sultry look she bestowed upon him. His mouth both watered then quickly dried at the picture she painted.

"Maybe I should do the same to, ah, this problem?" she said, her voice light with imminent laughter.

He scowled and tried to get out from under her. "Ok, don't look into this all right. It's just…it… whatever - shut up, stupid!"

Lana loved seeing him squirm. He was normally so calm and collected that it was nearly psychotic. But she made him writhe and lose that cool he always kept. She decided to tease him with her restored power. Lowering her upper body, she let her scantily clothed breasts drag across his chest while her lower body ground against him slightly.

She whispered in his ear, "Call waiting from a Mr. K-Log, he wants to inform you…you're in the Danger Zone."

Archer groaned as she rolled off him and huskily ground out a breathless, "Aw, I need new pants."

She threw him a pair of cargo shorts and slipped into a slim sundress. "Get them on quick, we need to check out the status of our target."

Archer caught the proffered garment and slapped them on. "As the leader on the mission, and the superior-in-all-regards agent, I already found out. He isn't here yet."

"Well then, there's no harm in double-checking now is there?" She regarded him and added, "Fly's undone."

As she made her way out of the stuffy room, Archer called out, "This monster needs some _breathing room_, Lana!" He zipped his pants and made faces behind her back childishly, then followed her out.

Downstairs in the lobby, Lana spotted the concierge clerk. He was a handsome man, bright blue eyes set in a gorgeously chiseled dark face. Well groomed and his clothes were prim and fashionable. He had a trimmed mustache and slicked back hair and Lana was on the prowl for maybe just a little more than intel with this target.

Archer scoffed behind her, sensing her attitude from the gleam in her eye. "Oh please, Lana, he's like a Mexican Ray!"

"For once, you're actually, probably, not using 'Mexican' as a racial objectification. And just because he has a better sense of style than you, doesn't make him gay, Archer."

"Better sense of style? Okay: numero uno, let's not take false and cheap shots here; and numero dos that's not what makes him gay. The fact that this man in front of you likes deep throating cock as much as Pam does, does."

Archer began to make choking noises and lewd gestures to which Lana attempted to ignore. Seductively sticking her chest out, she strutted over to the man in waiting to Honeypot the information she needed. Her partner chuckled and said, "I warned you."

Running her fingers along the waxed wood tabletop, Lana leant into her arm, resting her breasts on the table and giving the man ample view of her cleavage. She smiled up at him and batted her lashes.

"Hi," she said. "I was _really_ hoping you could help me. See, I'm waiting for a friend and I lost my phone so I was hoping you could tell me if he happened to check in already? I would be…_so_ grateful."

The man began attending to his nails and cuticles. "Sorry, busy."

This took the field agent aback. She stammered out an, "I'm sorry?"

The clerk, whose name tag read Javier, glanced at her crudely and replied, "No, honey, I'm sorry. That sundress, from two seasons ago?" He let the rest of his judgement trail off.

Archer could see the fire burning around his second in command and tried to keep his laughter down below boisterous. She was plummeting faster than the plane he commandeered from the archaic-enthusiast Rip Riley and decided it was time to jump in and rescue her again. Or more likely Javier with the way her hands shook at her sides and crept suspiciously higher to neck level.

Javier's eyes brightened as he spotted the second guest approaching. He evolved from a sarcastic and nasty server to the perfect and flirtatious host. "Oh, Señor Randerson!" he exclaimed, fixing his hair and casting the secret agent a saucy smile. Lana's jaw dropped as she glared at her approaching partner.

"Hola, Javier, qué tal, buddy?" Archer moseyed over and gave a lopsided grin, triumphantly winking at Lana.

She pinched his side in retaliation.

"Muy bien, Señor Randerson. How can I help you today?"

"Well the thing is, she and I have the same problem. We're waiting for a friend to arrive and wondered if he had. She lost her phone and I can't seem to get any signal here. If you could be a doll and help, we would really _really_ appreciate it."

Javier bit his lip and looked away. "I'm sorry, Señor, I can not reveal this information to you. It is against company policy and I could lose my job…"

Archer nodded his head understandingly. "I get it, buddy. But, listen, why don't you and I take a quick break and how's about I do a little…servicing?"

Lana's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Either she was still dreaming or had her vitamin tablets accidentally switched with the ones Cheryl took, but it sounded a lot like her partner (a notorious homophobe) flirting with the concierge.

Archer loved honeypot missions if they involved beautiful, foreign women. He violently objected those types of seduce and extract missions when the targets were men; the only exception was when his Mother twisted his arm with Ramon Limon, but even then he grumbled and groveled to be taken off it. Now, he flawlessly charmed the literal pants off the entirely too willing host, who told him of the nearest closet they could dart into it. In less then five seconds of departing, Archer returned alone.

"Well I guess they don't call it a quickie for nothin'!" Lana joked then turned serious. "Also, you knew the whole time he was actually gay!"

"I tried to warn you. He came up to me last night at the bar and offered some things that were, honestly, a little hard to pass up. Which I _did_, and ha-ha," he forcefully laughed at her lame joke, then pointed at his watch. "The new spymaster comes with a canister of non-lethal knockout gas, though I didn't need to use it. I just found the right spot to make him come quietly and hid him in the closet."

"Phrasing," she got the word in to Archer's anger. "Now what do we do since you took out the guy with the answers? I don't see a manager's book or a list of reservations and people."

"There's the computer."

"Yeah, genius, and it's password protected. I obviously tried that while you were taking such good care of our bellhomo, Javier."

Archer laughed and between each commented, "That joke was pretty weak and you are so mad he didn't fall for you. Hahaha, that was hilarious. So glad I didn't stop it sooner."

"If you're done being an ass, we gotta find a way into this thing. Or spend an hour checking every room and risk blowing our cover if he's even here."

"Step aside," he commanded, brutishly knocking her out of the way. "Hey Lana, I forget, what's the Spanish word for 'guest'?"

She sighed and racked her brain. "There's a few, but one is _convitado_. But I doubt that's —"

"Haha, oh my god, we're in," Archer chimed. "Dear Mexico, please _please_ be gayer."

"Wow, I," Lana was stunned. "I can't believe that worked. I also can't believe there are places with equally shitty security as ISIS."

"Yeah, that's…that's pretty bad. Speaking of, I wonder how everyone is doing back home?"

"Knowing them, I'd rather not guess. And it looks like our guy isn't here yet."

"Told you."

"That gives us some downtime for the moment," Lana's mouth split into a wide smile, her eyes glistening while the cogs in her head audibly turned as she thought of a pleasant idea. "And I know how I'm going to spend it. See you in a few hours!"

Archer stood at the front of the hotel lobby for a few more moments, smacking his lips and realizing he desperately needed a drink, feeling the dull throb at his temples returning from lack of liquor. He heard muffled thumps and secondarily realized he also needed to let Javier out of the closet. He laughed at his own mental joke. In all seriousness, he knew Javier should get out of there soon. But drink first.


	4. Operation Tango

Lana came back from her much needed salon treatment feeling refreshed. The night air felt wonderful on her exfoliated skin and the whole world looked brighter after her relaxing day of self love. She savored the last few moments of sanity away from Archer as she walked up the steps to their suite. It was a blissful day being away from her partner, no one to nag or bother her for a whole three hours.

Stepping inside the dark room, she neither saw nor sensed anyone in the room. Lana called out to her partner after flicking the switch to confirm her intuition, but there was no answer. She could hear a lively band playing tasteful jazzy tunes floating up from the courtyard patio her room overlooked. At night, the courtyard was transformed from an elegant forum to an outdoor dance club and bar for the patrons of the swanky hotel. She planned to ignore the noise and call it a night when she heard a familiar raucous ruckus over the din of the patio.

"Hey, baby, you Russian? How about you show me some love from Russia. Get it? Like the Bond movie? I mean, I usually don't invite that comparison, but I am totally the world's deadliest secret agent!"

Lana groaned, not even needing to look out to see who was making all the noise.

"I'm like double-oh-_awesome. _What? Yes, I am! Here, hang on, I can prove it. Let me just call one of the other agents. He's undercover in Tangier right now, but he'll totally back me up. I work for ISIS as their number one spy. No, seriously, hey what? You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Lana groaned louder and looked through her belongings for something to wear. She needed to go down there and shut that buffoon up before their names were printed on the morning headlines for their target to read. She would also rather not let him out another "loose cannon" ISIS employee for his bragging rights. Her eye caught on a saucy little number and smirked proudly. This would be sure to shut him up for the night.

* * *

Archer drowned his recent rejection from one of the barflies in a Jack Daniels. She was seven cents to a dime, anyway. There were plenty of other women hotter, floozier, or at least drunker he could prey on and the night was young. He stared at his reflection in the dark liquid and noticed how dejected he looked, which confused him. The rejection of that one girl was no real loss, so why did the deep frown lines around his mouth remind him of his mother's. He shuddered and gagged on his drink, trying to think of anything but his mother in that moment.

His thoughts fluttered to his second in command and her actions this morning. They were surprising to say the least. The way she used her body to tease him after he woke her up. And the show she gave him before that. What was she dreaming about? He entertained thoughts that it was he who caused the "frothiness" (as Malory often grotesquely said) in her loins, but even he had to admit that was too vain. While she was out during the day, he took the opportunity to recall those feelings she stirred in him and use it to his advantage. Which reminded him, he needed to inform the cleaning lady they were out of kleenex and lotion.

Suddenly a voice brought him out of his stupid stupor.

"Care to dance?"

"I'm a bit busy right now, sweetheart, but maybe after four more drinks I can indulge —"

"I said," the voice grated out sharply behind gritted teeth. "Care. To. Dance?"

With a resigned sigh, Sterling Archer, renowned (not so) secret agent, took his eyes away from the cool lip of his drink to stare at the plump red ones now in front of him. He took the opportunity to gaze lower at the bountiful cleavage surrounded by thin, delicate straps of a crimson cocktail dress that clung to her figure as tightly as he wanted to.

"Well, he-e-e-llo-o-o," his eyes racked her taut body, reveling in her curves and the tightness of her stomach, following them up to emerald eyes set in the rich face of, "Lana?!" He choked on his whiskey and shock.

She was absolutely stunning in that dress. The glow of the faux tiki torches on her bronzed skin, not to mention the sudden healthy glow she gave off like a halo around her being, caused him to blink a few times. The sultry way she pushed her chest out, her high ponytail accentuating her facial features and neck, made his mouth water. He put his glass down and numbly asked the bartender for another. She was like a female Lucifer - a Lucifette - coming down to tempt him, and boy did he want a bite of that apple.

Large hands gripped his knee in a vice-like hold and Archer winced slightly at the pressure bringing him back down to earth.

"I'm sorry," she said, her sugar-coated tone thick enough to throttle him, as if her monster hands couldn't easily do the job. "You must have me _confused_ with someone. My name is Eva, and yours?"

Confused, his steel blue eyes quickly scanned his surroundings with the situational awareness he was famous for - saying how famous he was for it. Noticing two men in suits by the exit, their posture rigid and their general aura out of place in the tropical atmosphere of the posh patio and dance room, Archer slapped on an instant persona to accompany his new name.

A broad and dazzling grin blossomed on his handsome face and for a moment, Lana forgot their mission and her overall annoyance with the man. It was his most aggravating feature; how easily he could make anyone forgot how awful of a human being he was by distracting them with how devastatingly handsome he could be.

"Charmed. To meet you, that is," he pried her hand off his knee and held it in his own, bringing it up to his lips and gracing the knuckles with a soft brush. "Randy Diamond, avid adventurer and occupational gator wrestler. I like to live life on the edge, you could even say close to a zone of —"

"Dance?" she interrupted, remembering why she detested working with him.

Eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second, he nodded and obliged, walking the two over to the dance floor.

The live band began to play a vivacious acoustic tango of Marc Anthony's "I Need To Know" to which Archer easily transitioned to. He was as exceptional at deception and misdirection as he was at waltzing and doing the tango. The rhythm made it difficult to talk to each other, which was why the offer was made in the first place; so for the first few measures, the two just played their parts as strangers finding each other on a romantic evening beneath a smiling moon.

Archer led with the limber grace of his beloved jungle cats, light on his feet but strong with his hands. Lana felt secure in his arms as her skillful eyes tracked around the room she was being spun in to look for anything out of the ordinary. Seeing nothing, she allowed herself to focus on the effervescent beat of bass, drums, vocals, and even some slight attention to the way Archer's back and bicep muscles flexed enticingly with each movement.

_They say around the way you ask for me. There's even talk about you wanting me. I must admit that's what I want to hear, but that's just talk until you take me there._

The intro to the song resonated with both of them. They glanced at each other and exchanged meaningful looks. There was a pregnant pause in time as the two just stared into each others' eyes; the deep, deep emerald meeting cool, crystal blue. The music seemed to slow, the air grew thicker with their mutual sexual tension, which Archer quickly dispelled as he darted them across the room and away from that area.

_If it's true don't leave me all alone out here, wonderin' if you're ever gonna take me there. Tell me what you're feeling 'cause I need to know! Girl, you gotta let me know which way to go._

Gaining a sturdier grip on her lower back he dipped her to the beat, a small audience that gathered cheered happily, but the two found themselves lost within their own worlds. His other hand traced her leg that wrapped around him, settling on the underside of her thigh to position it higher on his hip. His eyes were half-lidded as they stared directly into hers before looking away, afraid of what he might find there. A "no, you're crazy and I hate you" was just as scary to him at that moment as "yes, I can feel it too."

_I need to know…I need to know…tell me, baby girl, 'cause I need to know._

The song was hitting a little too close to home, and while the dancing was a nice change of literal pace, if she could help it she would rather not touch him at all. She was also beginning to fear the resurrection of passion he was instilling in her heart, the way her body fit against his so perfectly honestly scared her and she knew she needed to end this. Especially when his hands wandered the way they did. In her errant dreams it was fine, but in person she refused to let him handle her like some cheap call girl getting paid for a handy in a bathroom stall.

"If you want to keep them," she ground out behind a fake and full smile. "I suggest you move them." She jumped slightly and smacked his hand away that drifted to dangerously naughty areas. "Not that way!"

Archer chuckled in her ear. "I wanna believe you when you say that, Lana, but your body keeps screaming, 'Oh, Archer! Archer! Archer, oooh!'" He looked away as he brought her back up and continued, "Or maybe that was the Puerto Rican girl the other night. Boom! Or was she Mexican? Point is, I totally scored with a hot chick and you still have yet too on this trip, booyakashaw!"

"You're repugnant," she seethed, her hands strangling the fabric beneath her fingers and painfully drilling themselves into him. The bite of her nails was familiar to him, but currently unwanted. "And a liar. She wouldn't call you Archer when you told her your name was Randy."

"Hey, this shirt cost more than you make in a month! So ease up, man-hands."

Their tension was easily severed and the two were silently grateful to be back to their banter.

"Aw, go home and cry to mommy," she berated huffily.

"Wow, ok, one time! And you know with hands and shoulders like you have, I realize, you should probably be the one leading not me."

"Tch, Archer…"

"Truck-o-sau-rus," he took on the affectation of one of Krieger's ridiculous and nonfunctioning robots.

"Archer!" She rolled her eyes, now very glad to feel the twitch of anger instead of the other emotion that stirred guiltily in her heart and gut. Her eyes settled on the two eery out-of-placers that were moving to meet up with three more, two of whom she could see the outline of a gun in their waistbands. "At your six. Two possible gunmen joining three other shady assholes, maybe our guys."

"Ok, Lana, wow; just because those finely dressed, yet totally sleazy, Latinos are congregated doesn't mean they are the drug-smugglers we're looking for. That's racial profiling and I won't abide by it." He puckered his lips for a moment and thought. "Although, they look too fancy to be the towel boys so I wonder how they even got in here."

"What?"

"I mean, this is supposedly a five star place so I would expect a sort of different caliber than the Tijuana Inn."

"No, you idiot, you're looking at my six! _Your_ six…asshole."

Archer laughed as if he was the funniest man on the planet, which to him he was a correct assumption, and assured, "I know who you're talking about, stupid, I saw the first two when you desperately begged me to dance with you."

With deft precision and surprising grace, he spun the two around in time to the heady beat of the bongo drums, allowing him visual access to their potential targets. He confirmed her suspicions with a nearly imperceptible nod and began to move closer to the group. This was their chance to finally get some work done for their mission and hopefully gain crucial intel.

Little did they know, that this night would set the events that changed the course of their mission and lives all together.

**A/N: **Hope you guys are enjoying it! Leave comments below on things you think I should work on or if I'm meeting y'alls standards! :) Next chapter is a continuation of this one, and things begin picking up a little steam. Choo choo.


	5. Takes Two to Tango and One to Leave

The two secret agents (whose cover had luckily not been blown yet no thanks to Archer's bravado) casually danced their way over near the group of shady men. Thankfully, the song had changed at this point to a slow dance, making it all the easier to do what their occupations called for. Archer saw one of them glance over and scowl in their direction suspiciously. The others arrogantly ignored them, but Archer knew the one on the lookout had better intuition.

He played off their location by looking anywhere but their targets, finding his nose suddenly at Lana's scalp. She smelled like fresh cucumber water and coconut, with a hint of a perfume; its heady scent made it slightly difficult to concentrate on anything but the woman in his arms.

_Come to think of it_, Archer thought, _this feels really nice. It feels…sort of, right? _

He looked down at her. Lana was looking anywhere but up at him, her face drawn and determined. She was a fierce woman whose sharp eyes cut through him to look around and gauge her surroundings. All his idiotic jokes and jabs at her expense aside, she was a formidable opponent - and his favorite ally. She was his favorite everything, he allowed himself to realize.

"Lana, put your head on my shoulder."

She was outraged, "What the hell for? I swear to god, Archer…"

"If you lean your head on my shoulder, you'll hear what they have to say better. And close your eyes so they won't suspect anything either. Pretend like we're some idiot couple on our honeymoon or some shit - just do it."

"That…" she thought for a moment. "Actually is not a bad idea."

He laughed and said, "Yeah, I have those sometimes. Those being not ideas and sometimes being _always_."

As he drew even closer to the guards, Archer ran his fingers up her neck, playing with the fine hairs and gently massaging her scalp. He remembered Lana liked it when her hair was affectionately stroked. It took a lot of trust for her to let people do it, but it proved to be working in their favor at the moment. It was also a nice bump to his ego that she still trusted him enough to let him do it, she had really nice hair.

Her head lowered naturally to rest along his shoulder with a happy hum. It was easy to pretend she enjoyed his ministrations because she wasn't pretending. It was an almost difficult task to break herself out of her comfortable doze and listen intently to what the guards were saying.

After a few more minutes of eavesdropping and playing their parts way _too_ well to the soft swaying of a smooth jazz version of Dean Martin's "Sway," Lana popped her head up and whispered something in his ear.

"Act like we're leaving together for the night."

"Is that a promise?" he heard himself whisper back, surprising both himself and his partner.

She refused to analyze it and instead laughed uproariously, playfully smacking his upper arm as if he had said something dangerously dirty and loving it. She grabbed his tie and threw it over her shoulder, sending him teasing glances and flirtatious promises back at him. She was really trying to sell this image. It was a slightly risky move; on the one hand, her ruckus could be seen as mindless fun between harmless strangers - and nothing else. On the other it could draw and keep unwanted attention to the two of them. She noticed four of the five men didn't bother even glancing her way, which was a good sign. The fifth looked over, grunted distastefully and returned to his business, which was an even better sign.

For a moment, Archer found himself looking at this scene and wishing it were true; wishing that the two of them really were strangers in the night, finding each other for a romantic tryst on a beach vacation in beautiful Cabo San Lucas. He idly thought of how different their lives would have been had they not met as spies, but as strangers. He logically knew had it not been for ISIS in the first place, they never would have met, but he liked the image he saw of her taking them back to their room.

He liked imagining starting over and trying it again with her, away from all the bullshit of their jobs and hectic lives. Archer almost grabbed her hand to tell her, but remembered for someone so fearless, he was actually pretty terrified of change. He liked his routine, as chaotic as it was, it was all very procedural. A disorganized mess of a life that seemed to tick right on schedule, like a clock with a broken spring and hand, it was right at least twice a day.

He liked going anywhere in the world and fucking whoever he wanted. He liked operating with no strings (a real pain in his mother's ass) and being free to do basically whatever he wanted. He liked the danger, the suspense, the antagonizing figures of authority. And he loved - really, really loved - his job. He was everything he wanted to be and more, the best at what he did and his occupation was fucking kickass!

But the sinking feeling of his heart weighted down in his stomach told him, he was also starting to love Lana a little bit more again.

He didn't remember walking for that long, lost in his thoughts as deeply as he was, but when the two were far enough away from the patio Lana stopped them. He bumped into her and grabbed her arms to steady himself. As he went to take them off her, he let the palms of his hands roam down muscular arms and lightly graze her hands. He held them there until she absentmindedly shook them off.

"Okay," Lana said, her voice holding a tone like she was about to inevitably get into a very long winded conversation with herself. "From what I gathered, our initial intel was a little off base. It sounded like Vorhees isn't coming until next Friday and maybe even the Friday after. To be safe, let's assume it's the Friday after this one. That gives us a little over a week to prepare. Right now what we should do is go back to the suite, either map out our strategy and then figure out where the guards are staying and then potentially bug their room, or bug first, ask questions later. Sound like a plan, Stan?"

Archer was still blindly attempting to dispel his earlier thoughts, the words coming from Lana's mouth sounding as distant as the live band now was. He saw the snapping fingers before he processed hearing the sound coming from them. His blurry eyes focused on Lana who kept chanting his name.

"Yeah, I wasn't really listening," he admitted. "Oh, but when we catch this son of a bitch, I really gotta ask him if his name is _actually_ Vorhees or if he's just super into iconic horror movies of the greatest era of cinema. I wonder if he likes Top Gun or if it's just strictly horror genre."

Lana opened her mouth to give him some snappy banter, when suddenly she was thrust against a wall. She had no time to question why she was suddenly seeing stars from impact when Archer descended on her like a wild animal. His mouth latched onto hers with a fury, his hands were everywhere all at once, he was like a living and masculine incarnation of Kali (and just as destructive, at least to her hair and clothes).

Her hands were splayed against the wall, she had no idea what was happening. She knew she should have been angry, outright furious with this treatment. What was she, a piece of meat for him to slobber all over? But she found her grasp of control waning and mirrored his searching hands, seeking out any part of his bare skin for contact. She forgot what an amazing kisser he was and, in truth, it had been awhile since she had felt this kind of passion. A very long while; so she enjoyed it while she could, before snapping to her senses.

In the foggy haze of her mind, she heard a few footsteps, a thud where forearm met stomach, and a deep voice reprimand another.

"Cochino! Darles algo de privacidad!"

As the footsteps disappeared with the voices and a few snickers, Archer's fervent and seeking tongue began to pull back into his own mouth. The way Lana's chased after his, unconsciously seeking the contact out, made him smile discreetly. He detached his lips with a sigh, his chest heaving and pants noticeably pulling at the zipper, despite the large quantity of alcohol he ingested, he was clearly not inebriated enough for it to make a difference. Archer had to collect himself for a moment and was thankful to see Lana did as well.

He rested his forehead along hers and the bridges of their noses connected, both breathing heavily as if they had ran a marathon minutes before. Archer felt his heart doing laps around the inside of his heavy stomach.

"I heard them coming," he whispered along her skin, his breath fanned over her heated face like a cool, alcoholic breeze.

She swore she nearly got drunk off the smell alone, but it wasn't necessarily a bad one. Just an Archer one.

"We," she swallowed thickly, sighed, and slipped out from under him. "We should…probably head back to the suite. We can't go snooping around now that the M-Team is probably heading up to their room and would spot us following."

Archer laughed half-heartedly. "Wait, is it M-Team because they're Mexican?"

She shook her head and gestured to the arched entrance that lead to the stairs of the upstairs suites. "We should go."

* * *

The two made it up the steps in uncomfortable silence. It was an odd feeling, being so close yet so far to someone. In the proximate distance the small stairwell provided, the two had never felt farther away from each other. What transpired between them was a dangerous game they knew they should give up while they were still, somewhat, in the lead. The only problem they faced were their own gambling natures. Archer decided to place down some more bets and subconsciously hoped that Lana upped the ante as well. He was never that good at gambling, though.

"You know," he began, taking off his suit jacket and loosening his tie. "I don't know if you saw but the only heat they were carrying was the guns at their back. Not much muscle, I'm sure you and I could take them down easy with just hand to hand."

Lana, already changed into casual fatigue bottoms and a loose tank top, raised her eyebrow in his direction. Her look goading him to continue and see where he led. Just like on the dance floor, she wanted to see what direction he was trying to take them, towards their muddled emotions or towards the enemy group. She didn't know which was more frightening.

"That being said," Archer continued, tie slipping off his neck and thrown onto the bed like the flag at the beginning of a rally race; a challenge. He was revving his literal (no, figurative) engine. "I feel like we should probably practice sparring. For your sake, of course. I'm sure this vacation has made you a bit soft in the ole krav maga spirits. And potentially other areas, too. I thought you did yoga, Lana, what happened with that?"

This was a game of chicken the two were playing now. Lana knew she was nothing but taut muscle and martial arts expertise. She could easily call his bluff and decline, call it a night and leave the sexual tension to duke it out in her dreams and not the real world where real people were affected, namely herself. But Lana Kane never backed down, she was too brave and, she could honestly admit to herself, too stubborn.

She walked over to him, all lithe grace and the sensual roll of her hips his eyes greedily soaked in. He had his jacket flung over his shoulder, held by a single finger. He looked her up and down, openly admiring what he saw. She also used one finger, a carefully selected middle member out of her five, stabbing him directly in the chest. "If anyone needs a refresher, bub, it's you."

Archer looked down at her, a wolfish hunger in his eyes and a slyly seductive curl to his lopsided and arrogant grin. "Is that a challenge?" he asked.

She smiled back just as deviously. "Only if you make it one," she raised herself onto her toes, shorter than him by just a smidge without her boots, lips brushing against his like butterfly wings. "And I _really_ hope you do."

As Archer pressed his head down to lean into the promised kiss and forget their practice all together, she used his distraction to her advantage and sent an uppercut to his chin with the flat of her palm. The force sent him back into the wardrobe which shuddered on impact, denting the expensive wood doors. His eyes opened wildly, emotions like anger and arousal battling, flashing through his steely gaze.

With a growl low in his throat, he pounced after her, shooting himself and aiming at her waist. She sidestepped him and watched him flop onto the hardwood floor. With catlike reflexes, and faster than she could follow, he flipped on his back, spun his legs around in a whirlwind of blurred motion and suddenly she was on the ground with her legs taken out from under her.

She gave a struggled cry as a heavy weight fell on top of her; Archer used his body to pin her down. One hand connected with the side of his face, and he saw bright spots pop before his vision, but he was fast enough to catch the second one by the wrist in his fist. He forcefully slammed the hand down above her head, straining the muscles painfully and proudly watched her wince.

But like the story of Ajax against Poseidon, his hubris was what brought him down. If Poseidon was a proud black female spy and hubris was said woman swiveling her hips so powerfully she switched their positions so she was on top of him. While he was focused on the sudden vertigo, she switched their hands and grabbed his other in her large mitts. Triumphantly, she barked out a solid laugh as he struggled to get out from under her. He couldn't wiggle out so he tried bucking her off with his hips, which were evidently not as powerful. But unbeknownst to him, equally stirring.

Lana's cocky laughter trailed off into heavy breathing as Archer continued to grind his hips up into hers. The gleam in her eyes from the arrogance of winning dulled, her eyes half-lidded, until there was nothing left but a direct and deep desire. She licked her lips and bit her full bottom lip, enjoying the sensation his body rolls were causing. Sparks ignited in the pit of her stomach, her abdominal muscles clenching as she rolled on top of him. Archer was still focused on trying to get the upper hand again when he noticed the grip on his hands slackened.

He was about to overthrow her when the look in her eyes as she looked down at him stopped him mid-thrust. It nearly knocked the wind out of him; there was nothing there, no fight, just burning passion in her sharp green eyes. He dropped his hips back down to the floor slowly, as if sudden movements would scare her off. Untangling his hands from hers, he let them rest on her hips. So far, so good. So far, so great!

His cock strained against his dress pants painfully and he saw Lana eagerly move her hips over it, creating a hot friction between them. His head fell back to the floorboards with a soft thud, a groan escaping his throat. Archer's fingers skillfully climbed up the side of her body and back down, grabbing her hips and grinding them into him with a fury.

Lana's head was thrown back, giving out a soft cry which egged her partner on. He continued his motions until the whole room grew to a crescendo of both their moans and he could no longer contain himself. Archer clapped a hand to the back of her neck and forced her head down to meet his. She reciprocated of her own willing volition, their mouths clashing and both fighting for dominance. Their tongues lashed at the other's fervently, hands tearing at clothes and skin. Archer was a dehydrated man and Lana was an oasis he could drown happily in.

But like an oasis in the desert: it was a beautiful, tempting mirage that dispelled with a single, shuddering gasp.

* * *

Lana couldn't believe she was doing this - and couldn't believe she hadn't done it sooner! It felt amazing! Better than she had thought it would be, and better than it had ever been between them. She felt an insatiable hunger in his arms, quenching her thirst by drinking him up with her lips, tongue, and roving hands. Her body shivered as she reached a hand between their legs and stroked him, his groan a delicious sound as his hand followed suit on her. She was making out and tearing the clothes off of Sterling Archer, and it was actually amazing.

As soon as she thought the name, it was like an alarm rang in her head. It was the equivalent to a cold water shower or sitting in an ice tube while simultaneously being tazed. In a rush of memory, almost like her partner's beloved 80s montages, she saw every floozy bimbo Archer cheated on her with, every snide comment, every alcoholic beverage, every phone call to his mother - every other trait that took her so long to come to terms with, and apparently still hadn't resolved. She was making out and tearing the clothes off of the repugnant, womanizing Sterling Archer! Lana jerked her head back and threw herself off of him, clambering halfway up the bed.

"I can't," she whispered, then put some volume and confidence into her voice. "I can't do this."

Archer rose on his elbows, piquing his head in confusion. Lana internally groaned. He looked like an Adonis: shirt rumpled and exposing the smooth expanse of his pale, muscular chest; his lusting eyes gradually clearing to their normal crystal blue; his lips puffy and red from kissing, her lipstick marks all over his face, neck, and striking jaw; his ruffled hair thick as ever; and most enticing of all the tent in his pants that was still going strong.

He opened his mouth to ask her, but the realization began to dawn on him.

It was almost painful to watch the change in his demeanor. He went from attentive and excited lover to cold and withdrawn in an instant. He got up with his usual fluid grace, patted his pants down; he didn't straighten his shirt. He walked over near her to grab his suit jacket. She tentatively reached out to him, but stopped her trembling fingers.

Softly, Lana called out to him, "Archer, I'm sorry." She wasn't sure if she phrased it like a statement or question. She had never sounded so weak in her life and hated herself for it.

He walked out the door, stopped to shoot her a sidelong glance full of mysterious emotions she couldn't place, then slammed the door on his way out.

The room was painfully silent after the crash of the door. Lana didn't know how long she sat on the bed in crumpled, stunned silence. Getting up, she kept murmuring over and over, "Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit" as she paced. Her leg hit the side table and jostled an empty tumbler which made an annoying tinkling noise that was much to loud in the absence of sound. A strangled cry preceding the sound of smashing glass as she threw it against a wall, shattering into hundreds of pieces. With nothing left to do, Lana rolled onto the bed and lay there until she passed out. She didn't even change clothes. She also didn't know what she was going to say to him come morning.

"Fuck," was her last word before everything went blissfully dark.

**A/N: **I feel like as much of a tease as Lana with this chapter! My longest chapter yet, and no actual sex! Do not worry, my friends, that will be sooner than you think. No way I'll keep these two away from each other for long. But it's really not me to worry about tearing them apart in this story. Ho ho ho! I hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for more of this adventure! We're about a 1/3 into this story now and the next chapter heats things up a little more ;) Don't forget to leave your comments below! :) (Now to go prep for S6 finale tonight!)


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